


Against the Grain

by emungere



Series: Ladders [14]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Domestic, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is pissy. A serious failure to buy dishes. Also, make-up sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks very much to louiselux and emptyinnermost for the beta! (And then I made like 98 more changes so whatever's wrong is not their fault, sorry.)

Hannibal drove the Aston Martin with one hand resting lightly on the gearshift and one eye on Will in the passenger's seat beside him. Will's wheelchair wouldn't fit with the top up, and so they drove with a damp, cold wind washing over them. 

Will had socks stretched over the ends of his casts and had sunk down so far in his seat that his coat collar concealed half his face. "Don't say it," he said. 

"I don't know what you mean." 

"Yeah, you do. If you tell me we should've taken the Bentley again--"

"I mentioned it once as an alternative," Hannibal said. 

"The boards wouldn't fit." 

Hannibal resisted the urge to point out, again, that they could undoubtedly have the wood for the bookcases delivered. Apparently, that would not do. 

They reached the lumber yard after a twisting, silent journey. Hannibal watched Will and the road equally. Will didn't look at him once. Hannibal mentally cycled through possible reasons, but there were, on the one hand, far too many and, on the other, none that seemed immediate enough to result in this withdrawal. 

"Are you in pain?" Hannibal asked finally. 

Will turned to him, startled. "I -- yeah, but not -- it's fine. I'm fine. It's getting better." 

"I'm glad to hear it," Hannibal said and made the turn into the lumber yard. 

It had a gravel parking lot and a low fence that surrounded a few aisles of stacked boards. A corrugated metal roof covered it, and a building in the back contained the office. Once he had unloaded both the wheelchair and Will, Hannibal got back into the car to wait. 

"You're not coming?" Will said. 

"I thought you might prefer more space today."

Will looked at him, face blank, and then nodded once. He wheeled himself away down a sawdust-strewn aisle. Hannibal took out a book and leaned back in the seat. 

By chance or design, Will took long enough about his business that Hannibal finished his book. He checked his watch and looked down the aisles visible from the car. There was no sign of him. Hannibal left the car and found him in the last aisle on the right, looking over a stack of cherry wood planks. 

"Got bored?" Will asked. 

"I finished my book." 

"Well, you're just in time. You can carry this for me. No, not the one in front. Two back. Yeah, that one. Let me see the bottom of it." 

Will examined it, and Hannibal examined Will. They were close enough, as Hannibal held the board out for inspection, that he could smell the lingering scent of perfume about him. "Guerlain Vol de Nuit. Again. The same woman who gave you a ride home in May, or are you attracting a very specific type?" 

"Same woman."

"Another chance encounter?"

"She works here. She owns the place." Will turned the board over, thumb sliding along the bottom edge. 

"You never mentioned seeing her again." Hannibal had only ever smelled sawdust and fresh air on Will after those summer trips to the lumber yard. The drive home must have stripped away her scent. 

"You did threaten to kill her," Will said. 

But here they were, despite that. "You intend to introduce me?"

"That's the plan. If you want?" Will glanced up at him, uncertain, and Hannibal suddenly placed his silence on the way over as nerves rather than irritation or anger. 

"I'll try to restrain myself," Hannibal said. It didn't come out with the light tone he'd intended, and Will dropped his eyes to the board again. 

"Come on, bring that with you." Will headed for the office and left Hannibal to trail along behind with the board under his arm. 

Vol de Nuit filled the office, along with tobacco and the sharp scent of toner from the laser printer humming in the corner. The source of the perfume had olive skin, dark hair streaked with gray, and a wide smile for Will. More surprisingly, Will found a smile for her as well. They spoke a mixture of French and English, and Will managed to convey his desire for more and smaller knots than most of the boards had. He used the one Hannibal carried for demonstration purposes. 

"And who is this?" the woman said when they were done. 

"This is Maxime. The bookcases are for him." The false name sounded odd and unpleasant coming from Will's mouth. Odder still when he addressed Hannibal directly. "Maxime, this is Camille." 

Hannibal bowed over her hand, silent. 

"You're very lucky," Camille said in French. "He knows what he's doing, this one."

"I am," Hannibal said. 

The wood, she told them, would need to be collected from storage and delivered after all. She and Will said their goodbyes, and Hannibal watched, a pace away. Will's smile was easy and genuine and only wavered when he turned to Hannibal. 

They left the lumber yard in silence that lasted until they were halfway home. Hannibal's emotions did not tend to linger, but the dislocation he had felt throughout Will's conversation with Camille was only growing. He couldn't have said which resented more: Will's connection with this stranger or his obvious wariness, as if Hannibal might now search out her house and snap her neck. 

The fact that he would like to do just that was irrelevant. He wouldn't, and Will should know that by now. 

"What did you think of her?" Will asked, with another of those uncertain looks. 

"She was not what I imagined," Hannibal said. 

"What were you imagining?"

He had imagined Will touching someone else, and that had been bad enough. The reality of his casual ease with this woman was worse. "Someone younger," he said shortly. 

"She's a year younger than you." 

"I see your conversation has not been confined to wood types." 

Will crossed his arms over his chest and slouched down in the seat again. "You're the one who said I needed to practice my French."

"She must be very patient with you," Hannibal said. 

"She is. She's nice. I like her. Knows a lot about wood too." 

Hannibal glanced at him, but there was no hint of humor on his face, which, curiously, made it even more grating. "I'm certain she does." 

"She was a lot of help this summer, telling me where to get the stuff I needed." 

"How kind of her." 

"If you'd ever come with me, I would've introduced you," Will said.

"You never asked me to come with you."

Will shrugged. "Just saying."

"Did you want me to?" 

Will stared out the window, face turned toward the autumn gold landscape. The wind whipped his hair into a dark halo. "Sometimes. Sometimes I was glad you didn't. I wasn't sure what you'd do."

"And now you know." Hannibal fixed his attention on the road ahead and ignored the increasing chill as the sun vanished behind rolling clouds. "Perhaps this would be a good day to look at china. What do you think?" 

Will's hand twitched where it rested on his thigh. He wound his scarf tighter around his neck. "Yeah. Fine." 

Hannibal drove them to a specialty shop in a nearby town. The upscale brands, the pricing, and the obsequious staff would put Will in a mood more to growl and snap than to purchase tableware. He hadn't planned to take him here at all. At the moment, it seemed like an excellent idea. Will gave him a look of sheer disbelief as they entered. 

Directional lighting illuminated the shop's white walls like an art gallery. Plates hung on brackets. The shop assistant smelled of cheaper perfume than Will's lumber yard matron had worn. She sized them up and spoke to Hannibal, as most people did when they were out together. Usually he and Will were equally content with that. 

Now Hannibal turned away to examine the Hermès plates without answering. Will struggled through his explanation that they were only looking for the moment. His fluency had suffered a marked downgrade since his conversation with Camille, and Hannibal found himself silently correcting both word choice and pronunciation. 

At last, Will convinced her that they did not want help and rolled over to join him, temper rising from him like smoke. 

"What do you think of the _Voyage en Ikat_ series?" Hannibal said. In various combinations of gold and wildly saturated colors, the plates were too flashy for his tastes. Will was sure to loathe them. 

"Fine," Will said. "What do you want? Six place settings?"

Hannibal glanced down at him and hesitated. "Our table seats eight." 

"Then we'll get eight." Will went off to talk to the shop assistant, whose expression bloomed at the news of their purchase. 

Hannibal mentally calculated the cost. The dinner plates alone would come to more than two thousand euros, and Will was discussing salad bowls and dessert plates as well in a flat and worrying tone. Hannibal stepped close. He cleared his throat and laid a hand on Will's shoulder. 

Will looked up at him. "What." 

"Perhaps we could step outside for a moment," Hannibal said in English. 

"I'm buying dishes." 

"Dishes you hate." 

"Dishes you knew I'd hate," Will said. 

"I asked for your opinion on them. I didn't mandate their immediate purchase."

Will shrugged off his hand. "You might as well have. You knew I'd hate everything here."

"Not necessarily. Perhaps we might find some compromise. As we did earlier." 

Will took a breath, stopped, and wheeled himself to the other side of the store, out of earshot. Hannibal followed him. "Not _eating_ my only friend on this continent is not a compromise," Will said, low and hard. 

"It is to me." Hannibal knew before he spoke that this was a sentiment he should keep to himself. He was irritated enough not to care. Not irritated. Angry? Perhaps he was angry. 

"Fine. We'll _compromise_. Get your thousand dollar plates. Between them and the goddamn Bentley, you might as well buy a harpsichord and a neon sign telling Jack where we are." 

"Perhaps that would suit you. You are making a life for yourself here. One that would certainly be easier without me." 

"Go to hell," Will said in a quiet, even tone. He turned and wheeled out of the store. 

Hannibal was left to collect Will's credit card from the devastated shop assistant and go after him. He found Will already in the car, wheelchair abandoned on the sidewalk. The wind had stung his cheeks pink, but the flush of life did not match his fixed stare or the drooping line of his mouth. He still tired so easily, and the cold made it worse. 

Hannibal lifted the wheelchair into the back and stood there, taking in the grim set of Will's shoulders. It was a defensive posture that Hannibal often saw him adopt in social situations but never before because of him. After a moment, he took off his coat and laid it over over Will's lap. 

Will grabbed it with both hands as if he meant to fling it away from him. In the end, he pulled it closer, hands balled up tight in the wool, pale with tension. 

Hannibal got in beside him and started for home. 

"Where are we going?" Will asked. 

"Back to the house." 

"We still need dishes." 

Hannibal could think of nothing to say that would not make things worse. Part of him wanted to make things worse, which made speaking at all seem like an unwise risk. When they reached the house, he set Will's wheelchair down for him and did not offer to help him into it.

Will went into the house without him, up the plywood ramp he had installed himself, posture still tight and hunched, Hannibal's coat still draped over his lap. Hannibal put up the top on the car and followed him. He found Will in the kitchen, looking up at the cupboards, which were out of reach unless he pulled himself up onto the countertop. 

"I was going to make coffee," Will said. "I got in here and it seemed like too much work." 

"Shall I?" 

"If you want." Will left him behind again, heading for the study that now served as their bedroom. 

Hannibal started the coffee. He heard the strike of a match and the crackle and snap as flames took hold of dry wood. When Will did not return by the time the coffee had brewed, Hannibal brought it to him. 

Will was sitting in front of the fire, near the foot of the bed. He took his coffee without looking at Hannibal. "I know you're not going to hurt her," he said. 

Hannibal stared into the red heart of the fire. "I would much prefer to keep you entirely to myself."

"I know that too. And I assume you know that's smothering and impractical." Will paused. "I shouldn't have -- I could've done this better." 

"Do you think so?" Hannibal said, more acid in his tone than he'd intended. 

Will took a drink of his coffee and pressed the mug against his lower lip for a second. "I can't remember if I ever thanked you. For saving my life." 

Hannibal looked at him sharply but could see nothing of his expression from where he sat. "You escaped from Drake on your own."

"You saw how fast he caught up with us. He would've killed me out there on the porch. Or dragged me back down and killed me later. Did I say thank you?" 

"I can't remember either. It's not a matter for gratitude. There was nothing else I could have done." 

"I thought--" Will paused for more coffee and presumably to marshall his words. "When I was in the hospital back in DC, I thought, if you'd known, you could've left the dogs with her. And then I got back, and I didn't know how to tell you without it seeming like I didn't trust you."

"You didn't trust me." 

"No," Will said, looking down, but he didn't apologize, which was perhaps fair enough. "What you said in the store -- you don't really think that, do you? That it'd be easier for me if you weren't around?" 

"Practically speaking--"

"For fuck's sake, Hannibal. Let's not start being practical now." 

Hannibal sank down to sit on the end of the bed. "No. I suppose I don't." 

The smell of woodsmoke crept through the room, underlaid with sweeter notes as pockets of sap boiled and burst.

"I hate fighting with you," Will said. 

"Then stop. Come to bed with me instead."

Will breathed out a short laugh. "Make up sex? I'm not really in the mood."

"All I had in mind was a nap."

"It's the middle of the afternoon." 

"You're tired," Hannibal said. Will didn't argue. 

Hannibal removed his shoes and socks and got into the bed without bothering to undress. Will followed silently, heaved himself from the chair to the mattress, and fell into Hannibal's arms. Half of it was due to overbalancing and the other half to exhaustion but, once he was there, Will leaned into him, body going lax and soft even with his legs still hanging over the edge of the bed. Hannibal slid an arm under his knees and drew him under the covers. 

Will let him do it and settled with his head on his chest and an arm across his waist. "I feel like I should apologize. But I'm not sure I'm sorry." 

"I am," Hannibal said, surprising both of them. "Taking you to that shop was childish." 

Will shrugged. "You were angry."

"Yes. Inconvenient, these emotions that one cannot control." 

"Inconvenient," Will said, gently mocking. 

Hannibal touched his cheek and slid his thumb over the bridge of his nose. "I hope you won't take it amiss if I say that you are by far the most inconvenient thing in my life." 

Will smiled up at him, soft and bright, all the shadows lifting. "That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." 

"Hush." Hannibal untucked his shirt and laid a hand on the bare skin of his lower back. "Go to sleep." 

"Yeah. Not arguing. Is this going to get better soon? I'm too old for afternoon naps." 

"Soon, yes. The latest X-rays look good, and the rest will follow. You should be walking with a cane by December."

"Can't wait," Will said, muffled against Hannibal's shirt. He let out a long breath. A moment later, he was asleep.

Hannibal let himself hold him more tightly. He often did once Will was asleep, though he had no reason to suppose he would object if he were awake. It had never woken him. Usually, as he did now, he held Hannibal more tightly in return. His hand curled into a fist in Hannibal's shirt, and he ground his face against Hannibal's chest until he was entirely hidden away from the light.


	2. Chapter 2

Will woke up wearing a lot less than he had been when he'd passed out for his accidental afternoon nap. He had hazy memories of struggling out of his clothes with Hannibal's help, half-awake, as the fire warmed the room. Hannibal had done the same for himself and lay with his bare chest to Will's back, hand stretched over his hip and tracing the scratches he'd left there. 

"You didn't have to stay," Will said, slow and rusty with sleep. 

"You assume there's somewhere else I would rather be." 

Will let himself smile at that since Hannibal couldn't see. It warmed him from the chest and stomach outward and melted the last of his bad temper almost against his will. He closed his eyes and leaned into him. 

Hannibal ran his nail over one of the tiny scabs he'd left and peeled it back. 

"That's attached to me, you know," Will said. 

Hannibal rubbed his thumb over the raw skin left behind. "As you said yourself, I've done worse. Do you want me to stop?"

"S'fine. Kind of funny. We spent all day picking at each other's scabs." 

"Difficult to avoid."

Will tucked the covers under his chin. When he thought about the morning, he wanted to pull them over his head instead. "Will they ever heal?"

"Some wounds never do. But perhaps. In time."

"We've got time. Right?" 

Hannibal splayed his fingers and set his nails against the scratches. "We do." 

"Those will heal too."

"I am aware." Hannibal took his hand away and traced the lines of the sextant on Will's back instead. It wasn't hard to follow the direction of his thoughts.

"You can do it if you want to," Will said. 

"Do what?" 

"Cut me again. That is what you were thinking about, right?"

He felt the twitch of Hannibal's fingers against his skin and the small pause in his breath. "What was it like for you the first time?" 

"Terrifying," Will said quietly. "I didn't know what you were going to do. When it would end. I didn't know how much it would hurt." And then Hannibal had left him there. That had been the plan; Will had known it was coming. It had still been the worst part. "Last time, I knew what to expect."

"And afterward?" 

Afterward, Hannibal had promised not to hurt him, hadn't left his side, had held him all night long. Will closed his eyes for a second. "It came out looking pretty good."

"You know that wasn't what I meant." 

Will stared hard at the wavering seam of daylight where the curtains met. "It was -- I liked it. Afterward." 

Hannibal stroked over the curve of Will's thigh. "Do you want that again?"

"Do you?" 

"When you asked me about my fantasies and I wouldn't answer you, it was that night I thought of. The gift of your trust."

Will tugged the blanket up to his ears and curved his body back to meet Hannibal's more firmly. This conversation felt more dangerous than turning Hannibal loose on his body with a knife. "What would you do? Just the lines?" 

"I would need time to consider it," Hannibal said. 

"All right."

"Yes?" 

"Yes." Will closed his eyes in relief he didn't really understand. "Yes. Do it."

"When?"

"After I get the casts off."

Hannibal kissed the back of his neck. "A celebration." 

A transformation. He felt like he was changing every day. Like they both were. 

Hannibal traced lines on Will's chest with his fingers. They circled his nipples and dipped down into his navel and ran out over his ribs like wings. Hannibal got to the waistband of his shorts and pushed down into them, over the tops of his thighs. His knuckles brushed along the shaft of Will's cock. 

Will shifted his hips, wanting. Hannibal touched him more firmly, and his breath fell across Will's neck. He lifted Will's hair up and kissed the hot skin underneath it. His fingertips rubbed under Will's cock and lifted it to the side to tug lightly at his balls. 

Will was starting to get hard, but he was content to be still, to let Hannibal do as he liked. More than content. He felt warm and lazy with it. He cooperated when Hannibal pulled at his shorts, but after they were past his hips he left it to Hannibal to slide them down and off over his casts. The mattress dipped as Hannibal undressed behind him, and then he was pressed up against Will's back again, entirely naked, dick hard and leaving sticky streaks where it touched Will's skin. He slid it between Will's cheeks, and Will's entire body went tight with want. He put a hand over his mouth, but some noise still escaped him. 

Hannibal laid a steadying hand on his hip. "Yes?"

Will nodded, a frantic heat fluttering in his chest. 

Hannibal rocked against him once. He pulled Will's cheeks apart and rubbed the head of his cock against his hole. One hand left and came back with slick fingers to rub teasing circles into the muscle. He could still feel Hannibal's cock right there, so close. Hannibal pressed the now-slicked head against him, just enough to start to open him up. Will grabbed hold of the pillow and breathed hard around the stretch. 

Just as it started to be too much, Hannibal's fingers were back, working slowly into him, long and slippery and cool. Hannibal bit at the ball of his shoulder, the same spot he'd bitten the first time they'd been together, but not half as hard. He followed it up with a kiss where he'd dug his teeth in. Will leaned back, held against Hannibal's body, and felt safe. 

Hannibal drew two fingers out, added more lube, and pressed in again. And again. He was avoiding Will's prostate, just working him open. It felt good enough on its own. Having Hannibal in him. Touching him. Lips on his neck and his solid body and his leg between Will's. Will felt almost lulled by it. He watched the glimmer of daylight between the curtains for a while and then let his eyes close. 

Hannibal went from two fingers to three buried deep in Will's body. It hardly even felt like a stretch anymore. It felt easy. Will twisted his neck and upper body toward Hannibal, eyes still closed, asking for a kiss with parted lips. Hannibal gave it to him and slid his pinky in alongside his three fingers at the same time.

Will made some incoherent noise at that, but Hannibal swallowed it. He kissed Will hard, tongue in his mouth and hand in his hair. Will groped for something to hold onto and found the sheets with one hand and Hannibal's thigh with the other. He gripped both more and more tightly, and the kiss broke on his stuttering breaths until it was just their open mouths pressed together with no attempt at anything more. 

"All right?" Hannibal asked. 

Will jerked his head in a quick nod. He didn't think he could speak. 

Hannibal pushed his fingers half an inch deeper. An inch. Will stared up at the ceiling without seeing it, mouth wide open. It didn't hurt, but it felt on the edge of pain, on the edge of being too much in more ways than just the physical. Hannibal dragged his fingers over Will's prostate as he pulled out entirely. 

Will could feel the muscle trying to tighten up again, but he'd been stretched too wide. Hannibal ran a finger around the rim of his hole. There was lube dripping out of him, and Hannibal pushed it back in. Will gave into embarrassment and onslaught of sensation and turned onto his stomach to hide his face against the bed. 

Hannibal pulled him back with soothing noises, held him, rocked him against his chest. He spread Will's cheeks wide and pressed his cock inside. It went in so easily. A shiver shook Will's body. Hannibal's arms came around him, and Will gripped his wrist. "Slow," he said. 

Hannibal did as he asked. He moved so slowly that he was barely moving at all. He pressed soft wet kisses to the back of Will's neck. Little by little, Will eased away from whatever perilous edge he'd been on. He took a careful breath and moved his hips back. 

Hannibal made a low, pleased sound and tucked his face into the curve of Will's neck. Will could feel his inhale, in time with the lazy rock of his hips, still slow, but with enough force now to send sparks of pleasure all through Will's body. Will gripped Hannibal's hand with both of his, laced their fingers together, and held on tight. 

"How does it feel?" Hannibal said in his ear. 

_Loose and easy_ were the words that came to mind, and they spread a flush down Will's chest. He wet his lips and dug his nails into the back of Hannibal's hand. "Do it harder," he said. 

"Touch yourself."

Will detached one hand from Hannibal and wrapped it around his own cock. Even without moving it, it felt like too much as Hannibal started to move again, more quickly and with more force. Hannibal skimmed his teeth around the edge of Will's ear. "Will. Move your hand. I want you to come."

Will started to stroke himself, more from obedience than desire. His brain felt overheated, and he was grateful for the instruction, grateful that Hannibal knew how to bring this to a successful conclusion. To Will it seemed that he might continue in this state forever, suspended in simmering arousal. Marinating, like one of Hannibal's meals. A shaky laugh escaped him at the thought. 

"What is it?" Hannibal said. 

Will shook his head. He stroked himself tight from base to tip and let himself moan out loud. The sound got an answering exhalation from Hannibal, harsh and sudden. The tension broke over them. Hannibal's thrusts came faster, more frantic, and Will jerked himself off with short tight strokes, teeth bared against too much pleasure. 

Hannibal laid soft bites across his shoulders. Will could feel words pressed into his skin with the shape of Hannibal's mouth but he couldn't make them out. He had blood buzzing in his ears and all he could hear over that was the sound of his own breath. He arched back against Hannibal's body as he came.

Hannibal fucked him through it, gradually less controlled and more wild, more heed paid to his own body than to Will's. He came seconds later with both arms wrapped tight around Will and his face against Will's skin, hot breath and wet open mouth. 

As soon as he pulled out, Will turned toward him. Hannibal took him in his arms again, and Will held him in return, one arm across his lower back and the other over his shoulders. They both gripped so tightly that their breath came short. Hannibal slid a thigh between Will's. Their mouths met and then parted again as Will slid his cheek across Hannibal's and down so that they were both hidden against each other's skin. 

Will listened to Hannibal's breath and wondered how long they could stay like this. His ass ached. He could feel Hannibal's come leaking out of him. Like Hannibal could read his mind -- and sometimes Will almost believed he could -- he reached between Will's cheeks and slid his fingers over the rim of Will's stretched hole. Will hid his face more firmly against his neck and let him do it. 

"What do you want for dinner?" Hannibal asked. 

Will swallowed. "You want me to answer that while you've got your fingers in me?"

"Barely in you. Shall I take them out?" 

"Makes it -- uh -- kind of hard to think." 

"Try," Hannibal said, humor in his voice and his fingers deep enough in Will's ass to make him squirm. 

"I don't even -- know what we have. Fuck." 

"Of course you do. You came shopping with me."

Will made a noncommittal noise and pressed himself closer. "We got spinach, didn't we? Maybe spinach and some kind of pasta?"

"Some kind of pasta," Hannibal repeated under his breath. 

Will bit at his shoulder. "You asked. I don't know what you were expecting from me. Even without -- you know." His hands moved restlessly on Hannibal's back. It was impossible to keep entirely still. 

"Spinach gnocchi, perhaps." He withdrew his fingers and spread his hand over Will's ass instead. He pulled back far enough to let Will see his understated smirk. 

Will tried hard to be annoyed with him, failed, and kissed him instead. One kiss turned into two. He held Hannibal's face in both hands. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him to move and get a towel, but he didn't do it. He didn't want this to end. 

"It is odd how physical intimacy so often begets emotional intimacy and unwonted confessions," Hannibal said. "I have sometimes wondered if the chemicals released by our bodies during and after sexual intercourse might not be adapted to serve as a sort of truth serum."

"Something you want to tell me?" Will said. 

Hannibal dragged his fingers along Will's spine, up and down, measuring the seconds in the spaces between his vertebrae. "I enjoy this more than I thought I would. Our life here. More than I thought I could." 

Will smiled to himself. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean these to be separate stories, but I think they work better together, so here is an unplanned chapter 2.

**Author's Note:**

> You can check out my [original writing here](http://www.eleanorkos.com/) if you're interested.
> 
> [emungere.tumblr.com](http://emungere.tumblr.com)


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